


Rain-Wet Roses

by Suffolker



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2316389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Suffolker/pseuds/Suffolker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allison pulls him out of the car, drowsy from the trip and the heat, and down towards the grass. It’s early evening and the place is deserted, a sort of spring up in the wooded hills that surround Beacon Hills. Scott’s doing something behind him, ferreting around in the trunk but Allison slips a blindfold over his eyes and kisses him. This should feel ridiculous, but it doesn’t.<br/>Her mouth is so soft, like usual, not sweet but pleasant and clean and he wants, he pushes forward and deepens the kiss but doesn’t touch. He feels frantic, hot all over like the summer is finally too much and there’s something eating away at him which he doesn’t quite know. He loves Allison. He loves Scott. They love him, he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rain-Wet Roses

Erica lets herself in the back door as quietly as she can, using the key Melissa keeps under the mat for Scott’s friends, not an easy task in heels at two in the morning. The house is quiet and she still gets antsy about this sort of thing but if this is a trying-to-get-back-in-Allison’s-good-books mission then it’s totally worth five minutes in Scott’s hallway with a box full of her old shit to get a glance or a smile or something.   
She’s levering the box up the stairs when she hears a toilet flush and she freezes, cursing internally because how in God’s name is she going to explain this one to Melissa, when she catches the scent. It’s just Isaac. He yawns out of the bathroom and ambles down the landing, scratching his junk absentmindedly. His hair’s all messed-up and boy-sleepy and Erica makes a split-second decision before he scents her.

***

“AH. SHIT”  
Allison and Scott come barrelling out of the bedroom comedically fast and Erica’s doubled up sort of laughing, sort of trying to catch her breath after Isaac’s well aimed elbow to the stomach.

“What the hell Erica? What- what’re you doing here?”   
Isaac’s sleepily incredulous, which is adorable, and she’s struck by a sudden wave of something almost like longing when she notices that the box has spilled over on its side and something suspiciously lacy is lying on the floor. Somethings. She springs up to grab them and Allison notices as well because she jumps down to join her

“Dude she jumped on me,” Isaac moans and rubs his shoulder, where the bruise is already fading.   
“Don’t be such a baby Lahey,” Erica teases, shoving away a tiny scrap of bralet before either of the boys can notice, but Scott wraps his arms around Isaac’s waist and presses his lips to his shoulder blade, eyeing her suspiciously. He’s in alpha mode, Erica thinks, calming him down with his body language.   
“Come on babe, let’s go back to bed.”  
“But Erica-“  
“Allison obviously know what she’s doing.” 

“Scott? Is everything okay?” Melissa’s voice floats up the stairs, which means shit, she must have been awake downstairs the whole time Erica was trying to break in.   
“Yeah mom, it’s fine,” Scott says, detaching from Isaac and rubbing his neck all sleepy.   
“Are you sure? Scott? I think there’s someone outside-“  
“Don’t worry Mrs. Mccall, it’s just Boyd,” Erica sing-songs.  
“What? Erica? Is that Erica Reyes? What’s Erica doing here? Scott?”  
Erica takes that as her cue to leave.

***

“Alright, so what do you reckon’s in the box?”  
It’s 5 o’clock the day after the Erica Incident and Isaac’s sprawled over the bed trying to read, but angled towards the cardboard box which Allison had dumped unceremoniously in the corner before leaving for Lydia’s with distinct orders about not opening, on pain of death. The box is big, probably held a vacuum cleaner or something before ending up with Erica, and the lid is very firmly taped shut. Isaac’s not stupid. 

“I dunno man, I dunno,” Scott says and there’s laughter in his voice. When Isaac turns around he’s slouched in the chair watching him, one knee against his chest and looking like sunshine. His hair is mussed and he’s golden in the afternoon light, cast into the room through the open window. Sometimes Isaac can’t believe how truly lucky he is, to have Scott and Allison and Erica and Boyd and pack.   
“What are you looking at?” he asks. “You,” Scott replies simply. “Well, and your ass,” he corrects. “You look really good in summer. Sunlight suits you, you look sort of- glowing.”  
Isaac makes a split second decision about the concrete and absolute importance of his book. 

He realises later that Scott must know what’s in the box, or he wouldn’t be being so evasive. 

***

The lone box of Erica’s grows into a pile over the next week, lurking suspiciously in the corner so far as Isaac’s concerned. The days are getting warmer as the summer bleeds into early August and everything feels drenched in sun, Californian heat at its finest. Scott is always outside and Isaac’s heart jumps into his mouth whenever he sees him, warm and light in the mornings, almost magical in the evenings. Him and Allison are beautiful, stripped down to their underwear in the heat sometimes, lounging in the woods. 

Allison drives them out to a lake three days after Erica’s visit. Isaac hasn’t seen her since and he’s almost worried because it’s summer, they’d been with each other all the time at the beginning, but he can’t worry now, not when Allison and Scott are so beautiful.

Allison pulls him out of the car, drowsy from the trip and the heat, and down towards the grass. It’s early evening and the place is deserted, a sort of spring up in the wooded hills that surround Beacon Hills. Scott’s doing something behind him, ferreting around in the trunk but Allison slips a blindfold over his eyes and kisses him. This should feel ridiculous, but it doesn’t.  
Her mouth is so soft, like usual, not sweet but pleasant and clean and he wants, he pushes forward and deepens the kiss but doesn’t touch. He feels frantic, hot all over like the summer is finally too much and there’s something eating away at him which he doesn’t quite know. He loves Allison. He loves Scott. They love him, he thinks. 

“Isaac. Isaac. Hey.”  
Scott’s behind him now, running one hand up his back and Allison steps away so he groans, wants her back but lets Scott pull his sweat-soaked tshirt over his head. When it’s off he leans back into Scott, against his naked chest and he feels Allison shift forward again, gently take hold of his waist and she’s tugging him forward, leading him carefully down the bank. He can feel pebbles under his bare feet and suddenly the coolness of water, a shock against the still warmth of the air around him.  
The evening feels like it’s holding its breath.

They both step away, not touching him, leaving him in the water up to his ankles, but he can smell them. They’re there. He hears Scott passing Allison something and then she’s wading behind him, slipping something over his head. The sound of Scott kissing her. Then he’s back, and tucking things behind his ears, long stems and the heady scent telling him that they’re flowers, into the waistband of his shorts and into his hands where he clutches at them.

“Keep your eyes closed,” Allison whispers, and she pulls off the blindfold, wipes something over each of his eyelids with a gentle finger.  
“Alright, now open.”

***

Isaac is beautiful. The roses tucked behind his ears and in the crown on his head and woven into the necklace that dips down his bare chest and trails just above his shorts are pale yellow, soft and ethereal. Allison has smudged silver eyeshadow along his eyelids and brow bone and his eyes are hooded, mesmerised by something, slipping into another space.   
“You look like a god, Isaac,” says Scott simply. “So beautiful.”  
In the forest, in this glade, he could be some sort of nymph.

The car ride back is silent.

***

Kira brings her box on Thursday. It’s just a shoebox, but it rattles intriguingly when she hands it to Scott, and he smiles, kisses her.   
“You look good,” he says, and she does. High waisted shorts and a blue crop top in the heat, hair pulled back. There’s a yellow rose tucked behind her ear.  
“Boyd grows them,” she says when he reaches out to touch it. “With his grandma.”  
He makes a mental note to do something very, very good for Allison in the near future. 

When he pads back into the house, Kira follows him.   
“So what are you two doing?” she asks, “you and Allison? With all the stuff? I’ve got some lipsticks here and some scarves my mom doesn’t wear anymore and candles? Is that okay?”  
“Yeah Kira, that’s great.” He leans forward and kisses her again, the shoebox tucked under his arm, his other hand trailing along her face, before breaking into a grin.  
“Hey, come and see this with me!”

Grabbing her wrist he pulls her up the stairs and she giggles, trips but he rights her, and then into his bedroom. “Look,” he says, “Allison’s been putting all of it together. For Isaac, and me I guess.”  
There’s a pile of cardboard boxes in one corner and he pulls the biggest one towards him, cracking through the duct tape with a claw. When she peers over the top it’s filled with lace, flashes of colour.  
“Erica’s old stuff,” he explains. “Well,” and he rubs the back of his neck, “not really her old stuff, she hasn’t, you know, worn it much, that’d be gross. Anyway,” and he pulls out an electric blue corset. “Ah shit, she wore this to school once. Isaac’ll look really good in it.”  
“You will too,” she grins, and holds it up to him. “Is it going to fit?”

There’s a crate of shoes from Lydia, ballet flats and pumps and serious looking silver stilettos, all discreetly slit down the sides for larger feet. From a couple of the girls in Allison’s art class a box of old makeup, really nice stuff, beautifully boxed. A tiny wooden box filled with ribbons. Stiles has apparently managed to score a selection of perfume from somewhere, beautiful glass bottles wrapped haphazardly in tissue paper and stored in a shoebox much like her own. Boyd has provided the flowers, Cora two very tight fitting crop tops. 

“Do you think he’ll like it?” Scott asks, and he’s all earnest puppydog. She pulls him in for a kiss in response. “You’re an incredible boyfriend. Come on, let’s go for a run.”

Summer is intoxicating. 

***

Allison can’t believe them, can’t believe this. It’s Isaac’s birthday, finally, finally here and her boys are so beautiful that something in her slips away when she sees them like this. Don’t be melodramatic, she thinks; just be happy you have them.

Scott and Isaac are on the bed, Isaac draped over Scott’s back, biting gently at his neck and then licking over the marks in turn as Scott whimpers. Isaac’s wearing the electric blue corset, stretched wide over his back and the laces taut, his eyes smoky with eyeshadow. He’s naked otherwise, erection straining against Scott’s thigh, wiping a trail of precome against his skin; but for a black ribbon wrapped in a choker around his neck. Scott is in pale blue panties, delicate next to Isaac’s outfit, purple lipstick making his mouth sinful and beautiful. The summer night is sweltering, the window wide open but without a breeze. Kira’s candles are, apparently, vanilla, which mixes with Boyd’s roses, strewn zealously all around the room by Allison and Lydia earlier, and the smell is overpowering, intoxicating. 

They’re hers, they’ll do anything she asks.   
Isaac runs his hands up Scott’s chest and tweaks one of his nipples. He moans suddenly, tips his head back and Isaac seizes on it, nips a bite under his jawline and Scott goes slack.

“Um, Isaac? Can you? Touch him?” Allison asks. She doesn’t like to break the silence. But Scott moans, Isaac nods frantically, in another world, and slips his hand down Scott’s panties, takes him fully in his hand. His other palm is spread firmly across Scott’s chest, anchoring him in place and he’s gentle, so gentle, closing his fingers around Scott’s cock and tugging once. Scott tips forward and Isaac whispers something to him, something she can’t hear. Then again, his hand moving more firmly now, flicking over the tip with his upward strokes and Scott’s fucking into his fingers, spread out so beautifully, moving together with their feminine trappings enclosing them, keeping them safe and together.  
They move together, silently for a long time. There’s an equilibrium between them, a sort of understanding that Allison understands, feels deep in her core, from the way Isaac peers down at Scott and Scott’s reverential half smile, head tipped back and eyes shut. She’s so happy to watch, to observe, to try to understand. 

Allison can’t help it, can’t help the flush from her beautiful boys and the warmth threatening to burst out from her. Her hand slips down her own panties, she rubs at her clit, wet and sweet with arousal and moans a little, bucks into her hand. Isaac registers it, she can tell, but he keeps going, grounding Scott like Scott had grounded him in the lake, holding himself still now as Scott does all the work, pushing up into Isaac’s hand, eyes squeezed shut reverentially, panting. His breaths are more like whimpers now, little abortive noises that shoot to Allison’s groin and heart. His skin is glistening with sweat. 

“Isaac, I’m gonna… Isaac,” Scott’s muttering and Isaac swipes his hand across his chest, leans in and sucks Scott’s earlobe into his mouth before tugging. That does it. Scott whimpers and arches into Isaac’s anchoring palm, stretched securely across his chest, and comes almost silently, chest heaving.

Allison closes her eyes at that, tries to let the image sear into her somehow, and rubs furiously at her clit. She’s singleminded for a minute or so, the callouses on her fingers rough and ideal and grounding and she comes, finally, curled over into the anchoring coil of her fingers. 

Her boys, she thinks, maybe in ten minutes, maybe in ten years. Her boys, safe and soft and secure. Beautiful. Loved. A mental note to thank everyone, properly, joins the hundreds jostling for attention in her head before she slips into sleep.


End file.
